Pas de Deux
by Tinkerbell Faerie 2
Summary: DL It was like a dance. Oneshot. My favorite piece of writing. I know you'll love it as much as I do.


**AN:** Very Sappy. I seriously apologise.

**Summary: **It was like a dance. DL

**Disclaimer:** Please. They belong to people I can only HOPE to be.

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**Pas De Deux**_

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_The Step of Two_

Their movements seem choreographed. As if they had been dancing Swan Lake together for years, instead of dancing around each other for months. Their dance allows each to become a better partner, to take on situations that each would not be able to do on their own.

Oblivious to it themselves, others see their dance and smile. Some smile out of jealousy. But those who know them, and know their dance, smile with warmth, out of fondness and amusement. Amusement because the pair in question do not see the dance. The pair only see each other.

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_Promenade_

They walk, and it's obvious he slows his steps for her. They walk, and it causes her to shiver when he places his hand on the small of her back. They walk, and she shoots him a small, grateful smile when he holds the door for her. They walk, and she wishes she had enough courage to tuck her hand in the crook of his arm.

At the crime scene, there's no touching. But the dance continues anyway. He acts as a sounding board while she thinks out loud. She chuckles softly when he makes a good pun; rolls her eyes when it's a bad one. She asks the appropriate questions to kick start his mind; to think theory. She challenges him and he's amazed to find that this challenge is what he looks forward to every day.

They walk, around the crime scene, their steps careful and calculated. Their mannerisms professional, this dance is not quick. This dance is heavy with sobriety.

When they're done, they walk again; the mood lifts. He takes her kit in a gentlemanly manner, earning a surprised whimper, then a soft 'thank you'. She brings her eyes to her shoes, furiously fighting the blush that threatens to spread across her cheeks.

He does not understand the true meaning of the promenade, because as he walks around her, she loses her balance. She's fallen for him.

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_Pirouette_

It's his own fault that he shares an office with her. He shouldn't have made fun of her those first weeks. But, it was the best mistake he ever made. He can see her when he turns his head. Her graceful movements draw his eye as she turns back and forth between the microscope and the casefile.

Her soft humming draws his attention several times a day, and he can't get enough. She prefers country, and her body moves to the imaginary music. He watches, entranced; she turns on her left foot, her right tucked low behind her ankle, in turn out. She freezes, realizing her slip back into old habits from years of training.

She raises her eyes to his, hoping he wasn't watching. His grin threatens to light the whole room; her blush brings a heated electricity that crackles in the air. A sheepish shrug later, she places both feet firmly on the floor, ceases to hum, and returns to work.

He finds he's counting the minutes until she starts humming again.

His turns are not as graceful. His turns do not involve imaginary music, or soft humming. His turns involve extreme frustration, anger, sadness. His turns include kicks and punches, grunts and sweat; fighting his demons who, today, take the form of a boxing bag. He is aggressive, focused, demanding. Intimidating.

She watches from across the gym, free weights forgotten in her hands. She realizes the multiplicity of his personality; calm one minute, aggressive the next; professional, then tender; comfortable, then incredibly tense. A cop from a mob family: a walking contradiction.

When he steps back to reassess his imaginary opponents, bouncing on his toes, she reshelves the weights, making her way over to the blue-matted area. Her eyes flit over his sweaty body, and he freezes, sensing her arrival.

He lowers his gloved hands from below his chin, lifting an eyebrow in her direction. His bark of a laugh echoes through the gym when she suggests yoga for his blood pressure.

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_Jumps_

They jump. They will not admit they jump for work. Constantly on the go, the boss will say jump, and they'll each try their damndest to jump higher than the other. Jumping for work is tiring, but fun.

He checks in on her, poking his head around the door to ask about her analysis. She raises her head in surprise; she's surprised every time. She hears the challenge in his voice, and smirks, commenting that she'll be out of the office long before him.

Her comment is laced with sarcasm, but still insults his intelligence. He plays wounded, placing a hand over his heart and stumbling backward a few steps. He is rewarded when her smirk burns into a full fledged smile; she shakes her head, and returns to the microscope.

They will not admit other types of jumps either. The jumps that are beyond the scope of friendship, the jumps that occur as a result of too much time together. These jumps are just a little bit scary.

He chuckles at her reaction, and approaches her workspace. His questions this time are serious, concentrated on analysis of the case. He leans over her right shoulder to read her notes, his chest is pressed to her back, and she jumps. Imperceptible to him, because it's her heart that's reacting. Pounding in her ribcage at his proximity. She can feel his breath on her ear, and she jumps again, her stomach the culprit this time, floating with butterflies. It's all she can do not to sigh. But it escapes anyway.

He's reading her notes over her shoulder, and breathes in her scent. He can smell the freshness that is her shampoo, and he jumps. His heart reacting very much the same as hers, pounding in his chest; he hopes she can't hear it. He hears her sigh. A small, tiny sigh and he jumps again. This time, it's a part of his anatomy that should not be jumping in public. Making an excuse, he hastily retreats.

She jumps. Jumps at the loss of body heat, the loss of him pressed against her.

Neither of them will admit to jumping.

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_Lifts_

He finds he needs her. He needs her to be able to investigate properly. He needs her to be able to analyze properly. He needs her to be able to breathe properly.

She finds she's drowning. Drowning in the past. Her fear causes her to push away from the hand that's reaching for her. She fears the hand will push her under, and she'll never resurface.

He's pained and she's scared. They falter. They forget the steps. And the dance is lost.

They're alone, standing on the stage. The music surrounds them, and without the choreography, they're both about ready to give up. Her nightmare comes true: the music becomes water, and they both begin to sink.

In a last ditch attempt to survive, they're grasping blindly around them. Hand meets hand. His large one enveloping her smaller one. He can breathe again. He regains his footing, and remembers the steps.

She's still lost. But has a lifeline. His hand. And they both refuse to let go. It's his strength, this dance, that lifts her from the depths. He lifts her from her past. Brings her with him, hand in hand, into the future.

She remembers, and falls into step beside him.

The dance begins anew.

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**Please review. All comments welcome.**


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